


Your Worst Inhibitions

by SheWhoWalksUnseen



Series: ColdWestAllen Week 2018 [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Psych Fusion, ColdWestAllen Week 2018, F/M, Humor, Implied Atomwave if you squint, Leonard Snart Lives for Drama, M/M, Mick just wants to eat his muffin in peace, Multi, POV Mick Rory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:18:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWhoWalksUnseen/pseuds/SheWhoWalksUnseen
Summary: It wasn’t the strangest job Mick had ever taken (no, that prize went to the circus he had once infiltrated under Len’s lead, which they were never to speak of again) but he’d laughed his ass off initially because he thought the asshole had been kidding. It was only when he had visited the station with Len, the uncertainty in his eyes the one sign of his nerves as they walked past the skeptical cops, that he’d realized he was serious and apparently the chief wanted Len to solve their newest murder?(Like he said, it wasn’t the strangest job he’d ever taken, but it was certainly up there in sheer ridiculousness.)





	Your Worst Inhibitions

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 2 of ColdWestAllen Week, the prompt was "Law/Crime", which gave me the perfect excuse to write for the Psych AU I've got floating around in the back of my head (which I may or may not write after BBST). I also needed a break after the monster that was the first day's fic.
> 
> Title comes from the Psych theme song. 'Nuff said.

“Since when do you bring me coffee?” Mick asked, eyeing the three drinks sitting in the cup carrier. He’d been waiting outside the police station long enough that the officer on his phone a couple feet away from him had begun sizing him up. Not that it would be the first time Mick had gotten into a brawl with a pig, but he’d woken up early and Len had promised breakfast via text before promptly disappearing for an hour.

That paper bag his partner held better be carrying a goddamn blueberry muffin.

“Relax,” Len said as he held the bag out to Mick, who accepted it happily. He also handed Mick his coffee, smirking at the suspicious officer watching their movements. Given how antsy he was, the guy had to be a rookie.

Pity. The guy was built like he’d been working out with Superman on his weekends off, with a broad, muscled chest and sinfully long legs to boot.

“There was a line at the coffee shop,” Len explained, walking toward the precinct, leaving Mick to roll his eyes and follow. “Came as fast as I could.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Len glanced back at him. “You do realize you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes, don’t you? That why you didn’t come back to the apartment last night?”

The smirk twitched, but he didn’t deny anything. If anything, his cheeks gained a smidge of color. Mick chuckled and took a long sip of his coffee.

“Possibly.”

“Nice.”

Len seemed relieved that Mick wasn’t going to pry in front of the everyone in the precinct - probably didn’t want the two he really had his eyes on to get offended or jealous. His smirk did turn a little smug, though.

At least one of them was getting laid.

(He made a mental note to chat up that rookie later.)

“So, there a reason we’re bringing three cups of coffee inside?”

Len ignored his question, inclining his head toward a couple of passing officers in greeting. Some of them still made their distaste for the pair blatant, with dirty looks and whispers the moment they turned around, but there were fewer than there had been when Mick and Len had first set foot in the precinct.

When Len had contacted him months ago asking him to return to Central for a different kind of job, he’d agreed with little hesitance. Mick had figured he’d get to set some things on fire, maybe make off with a few hundred dollars more if they were lucky, and that’d be that. It had been nearly three months since he’d seen Len after their last job had gone south. They’d been laying low for a while and he assumed this heist was going to be a big one, judging by the careful way Len spoke about it. It was a little too vague for his tastes, but he figured  _what the hell_ , right?

The last thing Mick had expected upon his return was to be met at the train station by Len who delivered the news that he had been nearly arrested at the police station - not for a job, he had reassured Mick, but he was called in after he had sent in an anonymous tip about an amateur thief - and the only thing that was currently keeping him out of prison was the fact that the pigs thought he was a psychic.

Psychic with a capital P, to be exact.

Seriously, of all the situations that Len’s eidetic memory could have gotten him into...

It wasn’t the strangest job Mick had ever taken (no, that prize went to the circus he had once infiltrated under Len’s lead, which they were never to speak of again) but he’d laughed his ass off initially because he thought the asshole had been kidding. It was only when he had visited the station with Len, the uncertainty in his eyes the one sign of his nerves as they walked past the skeptical cops, that he’d realized he was serious and apparently the chief wanted Len to solve their newest murder?

(Like he said, it wasn’t the strangest job he’d ever taken, but it was certainly up there in sheer ridiculousness.)

It took less than three days of tagging along on investigations (much to the chagrin of one Detective Joe West), some calls to a couple of old contacts, and a few “psychic visions” (never let it be said that Leonard Snart didn’t have a penchant for drama) that pointed the appropriate number of fingers toward the culprit. There was something oddly satisfying about watching the cops cuff the murderer, about being able to stand beside the law rather than against it.

Not that Mick would ever give up thieving entirely, of course. It was easier to think of the investigation as another heist, though usually going undercover was Len’s area of expertise. When the chief had offered a full-time job as the precinct’s psychic – with Mick as his partner – it only took a couple minutes of discussion before they wound up accepting it.

Surprisingly, aside from having to keep up the act as a responsible citizen and dealing with Len pretending to be psychic, it wasn’t too bad of a gig. It gave them an excellent cover for their criminal background and an excuse to hang around the precinct for inside information for future heists. Getting friendly with the cops wasn’t part of the original plan, but it certainly made things more entertaining. Len had always loved a challenge, and Mick got to see the occasional fire start (or “accidentally” start a few himself when Len gave him the go), so it satisfied any chance of boredom.

Plus, it offered Len the opportunity to flirt with two of Central City’s brightest cops.

Speaking of cops -

“Why, Detective West,” Len drawled, his eyes lighting up the moment he spotted the man standing near Chief Singh, “funny running into you here.”

West’s face contorted into a grimace. He was the most outspoken about his dislike toward Mick and Len, particularly the latter. He hadn’t bought the psychic story from the start and Len’s insistence on flirting with both his daughter and her boyfriend, both cops as well, didn’t help matters.

“Unlike you, I actually work here, Snart.”

“Which one of us has put away more criminals in the last few months alone?” Len asked innocently.

West’s expression soured further. Singh sighed and shook his head, looking eternally weary. The man deserved a fruit basket for putting up with their arguments - and Len’s antics.

“And to think,” Len continued, removing one of the cups from the cup carrier, “I was coming over to offer you coffee. Sensed you might need the morning boost.” Mick barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes - “sensed”, my ass. “Black with two sugars, if I’m not mistaken?”

It was always comical to watch the detective’s reactions to Len’s “psychic episodes” and predictions (for someone sharp as a tack, the man had yet to realize that simple observation and perceptiveness went a long way). His eyes narrowed as he hesitantly accepted the cup, glancing between the coffee and Len as he took a sip. The look of concentration and his lingering irritation was clearly amusing Len, who just tilted his head and waited for the inevitable inquiry. Singh looked like he needed a vacation.

“How’d you know?” Len tapped the side of his temples as an answer and West huffed. “Really, Snart. We both know you’re not psychic.”

“So rude. And after I brought you coffee?”

Mick bit back a laugh as West’s cheeks flushed, a scowl forming on his face. He opened his mouth to contradict Len, likely about to start another tedious argument when Singh cleared his throat pointedly.

“Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, we’re going to be starting the briefing soon. It’s eight thirty, I haven’t had my own coffee yet, and I’d rather not listen to you two bicker before then. Yes?”

Len held up his hand in surrender. “Of course. Only meant to be friendly.”

The looks on both West and Singh’s faces proclaimed that they knew his statement was utter bullshit. If Len didn’t try to start shit with everyone for fun all the time, his efforts at “friendship” would be more believable.

West nodded at Singh before following him into the nearest room, where it seemed most of the officers had gathered. A bulletin board was set up at the back with the latest suspects on the new case (something about a serial killer who loved classic films or whatever, Mick hardly read the bulletin nowadays when he had a Len who could relay the pertinent information back to him in less time).

“West’s gonna kill you if you keep that up,” he told his partner, finishing off his coffee in one long gulp.

“Oh, he can try. Someone has to keep him on his toes, hmm?”

“‘Least you didn’t flirt with the kids in front of him this time,” Mick muttered. He opened his bag, grunting in satisfaction when he spotted not one but two blueberry muffins.  

Fuck, Len knew him so well.

Len sent him a strange look, something unclear passing over his face. It was gone too fast for him to name. “Yeah. Pity.” Without giving Mick a second to respond, he walked past into the room.

Odd.

Mick followed him in, moving to the closest corner to the door like they always did. Better vantage point to see the board and leave early (he liked Singh but damn did his briefings drag). It seemed Singh was moving to the front of the room now.

He scanned the room one last time. It was already getting crowded, so the chief was bound to start briefing soon. As he took the first bite of his muffin he realized two familiar heads were missing (though he definitely noticed the rookie cop from outside entering now; at least he had a chance after this meeting to make conversation, test the waters).

Not that he was too surprised. Barry Allen was notorious for not being punctual. Even if the man had an alarm clock taped to his chest, he would find a way to run late to every meeting unless Iris West or Joe dragged him there themselves.

Iris was missing too, however, which was curious. Surely the pair hadn’t slept in.

Len must have noticed the missing presences of his favorite cops in the precinct; his brow furrowed for a moment before he shook his head. He didn’t seem too perturbed by their absences, though, which was stranger yet. He picked up his own cup of coffee and sipped at it with a growing smirk.

Mick took a thoughtful bite from his muffin and studied the man next to him. There was something he was missing, something he couldn’t put his finger on.

He just didn’t know  _what_.

“May I have your attention, everyone!” Singh’s voice drew all the eyes in the room toward him, his mug of coffee in hand as he tapped the board behind him with the other. “We have a lot of information to cover so listen up. As you may know, it would seem that Central City’s infamous Lightning Killer has returned.”

Len straightened next to Mick, interest dawning on his face. The Lightning Killer had been in the papers a while back, some years ago, and he remembered hearing something vague about how many the man had wound up killing. From what he could recall, it was a lot. No one had ever seen the man’s face and they had nothing to identify him with. Mick knew little about the serial killer case itself, though he did remember one of the cops saying something about a series of games the man used to play with his victims. Something about that didn’t sit right with him.

It made sense that Len would be intrigued by the concept, of course. He loved puzzles, loved to take things apart little by little and decipher clues, whether he was on a job or called in for a case. If this Lightning Killer had returned, there was no way the chief would be able to keep his partner off the case.

“He is a dangerous man and I want all you on your guard,” Singh said. The low murmur this statement brought to the room suggested that the other officers knew just how big of a deal catching this killer was. “The Lightning Killer has contacted the police already, as he did the last time he - “

The door flew open and Barry Allen rushed in, hair askew and clutching his bag. Iris West came in close behind him, not quite running as her boyfriend was, and more put-together than he currently appeared.

Maybe they had slept in after all.

Len perked up further at the sight of the couple and Mick couldn’t help but snort. The sound earned him a glare from Len.

Honestly, for someone who had gotten himself laid somehow the night before, he was hopeless when it came to anything beyond physical attraction.

Singh heaved a sigh. West looked like he was contemplating doing the same across the room, his lips pursed in an unhappy line.

“Sorry!” Barry said, holding up a hand awkwardly as he breathed in deep. Iris laid a hand on his arm, a reminder to calm down, and he flashed the chief a nervous, lopsided smile. “Sorry we’re late. Traffic.”

Mick snorted again around his next bite. It was common knowledge that the kid didn’t own a car, and neither did Iris as far as he knew.

With his shirt collar rumpled, his collarbones were exposed, revealing the most probable reason they were running late. Judging by the exasperation on the chief and West’s faces (and the sheepish realization on Iris’ as she tried to subtly shift her boyfriend’s shirt to hide the hickeys) neither was impressed.

“Glad you could finally join us, Detective Allen, Detective West.”

Both blushed, Barry a brighter red than Iris, and Mick watched Len lean back against the wall to appraise their unusually unkempt state. His eyes roamed over what skin he could see with such obvious want that Mick was tempted to shove the other in their direction. After all, if the occasional flirting from both was enough indication, it wasn’t as if they’d be opposed to finding another bedmate.

Barry and Iris kept to the back of the room with Len and Mick as Singh continued, his frustration transforming into that grim stare he’d worn moments before. Barry caught Len’s eye and somehow his blush darkened as he ducked his head in embarrassment. The look only served to delight Len further. 

Iris cocked an eyebrow at the reaction, her eyes flitting to meet Len’s as well, and her lips curled in amusement.

There was something strangely knowing about the stare she sent their way. That sense that he was missing pieces of the puzzle nagged at his gut again. Len, for his part, was oblivious to Mick’s confusion as his own gaze grew more heated.

It was only when Mick was about to finish his muffin that his eyes fell upon a rather inconspicuous bruise along his partner’s jawline, half-hidden by the stubble he had yet to shave. There was no mistaking what it was once he noticed it, nor the odd exchange of looks he had witnessed.

He nearly choked on the remains of the first blueberry muffin. Len cast his eyes over him in faint concern as he tried to swallow properly around his laughter, feeling the frowns from the cops surrounding them boring into his skull.

“Went down the wrong pipe?”

Mick sent him an incredulous look. “You’re one lucky bastard, you know that?”

Len tilted his head, bewildered, before he followed Mick’s gaze to his own hickey. His mouth twitched as realization struck. “Well, if you want to put it that way...”

“Thought you were going to the bar last night?”

“I did. Saw some familiar faces and I was invited back for a chat.” The smug gleam in his eyes from earlier peeked through his (supposedly) cool and collected expression.

“No wonder West wanted to kill you.”

A hint of something dangerously close to worry crossed his face. “It’s hidden well enough. Besides, West isn’t the type of man to jump to conclusions.”

Mick shrugged, clearing the rest of the muffin out of his throat with a few pounds of his fist on his chest. Iris glanced at him and he bared his teeth in a grin. She rolled her eyes - like father, like daughter - before turning her attention back to the briefing.

Len began to turn back to Singh as well now that Mick’s risk of choking to death had decreased, his interest still captivated by the Lightning Killer case. The idiot was in deep, whether he wanted to deny it or not. Hell, they both were.

This gig had somehow turned into much more than a simple infiltration of the precinct for information, had been since the first case when Mick had agreed with reluctance to stand by Len’s absurd claims of psychic abilities. He just hoped Len knew what he was doing. The man always had a back-up plan, after all.

After a few more minutes of listening to Singh go on about the dangers of the case, Mick leaned closer to Len. “This mean you’re gonna stop mooning over their asses now?”

Len kicked the side of his leg in retaliation, which drew some weird looks.  _An actual child_ , Mick mused with a soft chuckle, searching through the bag for the second muffin even as Len’s smirk widened at the sound.

Maybe this psychic job wasn’t so bad at times. After all, if it meant he was going to get more free breakfast out of Len - and a couple potential fires, if Singh’s next warnings about one victim who had been burned alive were clues of what was to come - he was more than happy to put up with a little more flirting from his partner.

Plus, he was eager to see West’s reaction when the whole thing blew up.

He was already preparing a mental list of what safehouses hadn’t been overrun by cops or drunk teenagers these days, just in case he needed to hide Len from the precinct, specifically West, for the foreseeable future.

Judging by the suspicious glint in West’s eyes when Len spoke up during the briefing, boldly inclining his head, as if he were showing off the hickey (god, he really had a death wish), that time was approaching sooner than his partner likely imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on my DCTV Tumblr @areyouscarletcold. Comments are always appreciated, and have a great day!


End file.
